


Twelve Years Until the Harvest

by leftofrevolution



Series: Hybridization [2]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3147206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftofrevolution/pseuds/leftofrevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Korra is the Avatar, and everyone has to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Years Until the Harvest

She woke up in a bed. That was pretty weird, considering she’d fallen asleep on a hard rock floor, at least if one equated ‘fallen asleep’ with ‘was drugged. Again.’

Huh. Maybe the old woman she’d been half convinced she’d hallucinated hadn’t been lying after all.

The room—once she remembered some of the old woman’s other promises that gave her a reason to ever want to get out of the bed and look around—wasn’t very big, but it was well-lit—by _electrical lights_ , no less—the hardwood floor was covered by rugs, and there was a very nice painting of the Northern Lights on the wall immediately across from her bed, right above what looked to be a dresser. It all looked a hell of a lot more like a room at an inn than a prison cell, lack of windows notwithstanding, but all she had to do to remind herself that the past several weeks hadn’t been a dream was look at the state of her clothes, or feel the greasiness coating her skin and hair. The fact she had no water to bend alone proved her situation hadn’t changed all that much, and the air was still too dry to extract any moisture from it. Her new prison being _nice_ didn’t make it any less a prison; it just made it harder to see the bars.

She maneuvered herself to her feet and walked over to the door set in the wall to the left of her bed, viciously kicking it for lack of any guards to attack instead. Despite it looking to be made of much the same wood as the walls and floor, it was unexpectedly heavy, which she only noticed because her kick actually managed to cause the door to creak open.

The door was unlocked. The door was _unlocked_. What the hell.

She peeked down the hallway the now-open door revealed, the whole thing feeling surreal enough that she wondered if she wasn’t just suffering from another one of those bizarre drug-induced dreams. The hallway itself was dark, but she could see by the illumination of the lights from her room another door about ten feet down the hall, which she approached cautiously. She couldn’t hear anything from the other side, but the doors here seemed really thick; maybe if she pressed her ear to it, she could-

It turned out that door wasn’t locked either, or even latched properly. The only reason she didn’t fall flat on her face was because most of her weight had still been on the balls of her feet when the door swung open. Remaining on her feet didn’t make her feel any less exposed and foolish, and the sight of the White Lotus sentries on the other side of the room didn’t help things. Or maybe it did; easy to choose anger, then. Like hell she was ever going to feel chagrined in front of those bastards.

She was busy enough staring the sentries down and wishing she had some water that she didn’t notice there was someone in the recessed dining area in the middle of the room until that person stood up and said, sounding half-disbelieving, half-hopeful, “Ming-Hua?”

Ming-Hua glanced down, but not very far. Even standing in a two-foot well in the floor, P’Li still came up to her nose. “ _P’Li_?”

She’d been told she’d never see any of them again. Except by the old woman, who had said the opposite, but that had been too unreal to be believed. An old woman she didn’t know had no reason to visit her while she was locked away in a White Lotus cell, and the drugs they’d had her on had made everything kind of shimmery, anyway.

Maybe she was dead, and the old woman had been a spirit to take her to the afterlife. Except she didn’t feel dead. She felt like she was covered in bruises and kind of gross from not having bathed in over a month.

But that still didn’t explain how she was still seeing P’Li, who was in the process of dropping the blanket that had been wrapped around her shoulders and walking up to her to pull her into a hug. Good things didn’t just _happen_ in her life. The only luck she’d ever gotten she’d needed to take by force. To feel one of her best friends’ arms around her when she’d been told she’d be alone forever, without even needing to fight for it, was… was…

The fact that P’Li—whose cleavage was currently being mashed into her face—smelled as vile as she was sure she did was almost reassuring, as was the clink of manacles that she only now registered were clamped around P’Li’s wrists and—once P’Li took a step back, with a rigidity to her that Ming-Hua recognized as a refusal to show any embarrassment at her own exuberance—the sight of the brightly shining metal plate chained over P’Li’s third eye. So things were still kind of sucky. At least that increased the chances that this wasn’t a dream, or some sick trick.

Still, she had to clear her throat once before she said, “Hey.”                                                                       

P’Li still looked a little stiff, but she still managed a small smirk and said, “Hey yourself.”

“You smell fucking terrible.”

If they were alone, that would have startled a laugh out of her friend, but P’Li hated giving any sign of vulnerability in front of those she didn’t trust—which was almost everyone—and for her that meant showing any emotion beyond scorn or anger or, at best, vague, condescending amusement. Ming-Hua was honestly surprised that what she had always called P’Li’s ‘game face’ in her head had cracked enough for the hug, but it had been a shitty month for everyone.

As it was, her quip widened the smirk slightly and got a disdainful eyebrow, though Ming-Hua could see the honest amusement in P’Li’s eyes as she replied, “And you’re as fresh as a daisy, I’m sure.”

“As newly fallen snow,” Ming-Hua agreed, and grinned at her. She didn’t bother to hold back like P’Li did; Ghazan had told her more than once that even her cheeriest smile made her look somewhat psychotic, and strangers’ usual reaction to it bore this out; no reason she couldn’t have a little fun scaring the guards.

Thinking on Ghazan… “Have you seen either of the guys?”

P’Li’s smirk faded, and she shook her head. “I’ve been out here only about ten minutes, and the White Lotus won’t let me go through any doors but the one I came through before. Katara said we would all be seeing each other, but…” she trailed off, her eyes somewhat troubled.

Ming-Hua, for her part, could just blink, flummoxed. “You’ve met Katara?”

P’Li blinked back at her. “She came to my cell. Didn’t she come to yours as well?”

Holy shit. That old woman. “Holy shit. That old woman. I thought I hallucinated her.” Why the hell was she involved in all this? “Why the hell is she involved in all this?”

P’Li just blinked again. “Did she not tell you what was going on?”

There had been words. Something about better living conditions, and stains upon the White Lotus, and she’d been given a better blanket at some point, but- “… Maybe?”

P’Li stared at her incredulously for a few seconds, then she shivered once all over and made her way back to her blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders as best she could with her hands bound and sitting down on the rug next to the table that stood in the middle of the room. Once she was situated and had stared at Ming-Hua long enough that Ming-Hua grudgingly walked over and sat down next to her (but didn’t bother appropriating the blanket; the temperature of the room seemed fine to her), P’Li asked as if she didn’t care one way or the other (which meant she really, really did), “Did they hit you over the head or something?”

Ming-Hua snorted. “Hey, cut me some slack. I’ve been drugged since Fire Lord Asshole managed to get off a cheap shot and kidney punch me. Katara’s visit might as well have been the Mother of the Sea come to drag me to the underworld.” Sedna had already been her favorite spirit; it had actually been something of a comfort at the time. “You’re lucky I’m upright and speaking in complete sentences.”

That didn’t do a lot to ease the tight worry around P’Li’s eyes, but fortunately…

“… P’Li?”

… she didn’t really need to.

If she’d thought that P’Li had looked relieved at the sight of _her_ , that was nothing compared to how the firebender looked—her face so open that despite everything they had shared, Ming-Hua felt uncomfortably like she was witnessing something she shouldn’t—for a split second before she obviously remembered the presence of the White Lotus in the room and her expression shut down.

That didn’t stop either of them, obviously, from turning and looking at Zaheer, who was standing in the threshold of yet another door (there were six, which seemed a lot even if this was an entryway of some sort) and staring at P’Li. His hands were chained much as P’Li’s were, and his normally carefully groomed beard obviously hadn’t seen a razor since they’d been captured, but besides a fresh diagonal scar over his left eyebrow that Ming-Hua didn’t recall being gained in the fight, he looked a lot better than Ming-Hua had expected, based on what little she remembered of her captor’s taunts. So did P’Li, come to think of it. Either those White Lotus sentries had been blowing a lot of hot air, both P’Li and Zaheer were hiding some serious damage under their clothes, or Katara really was proving too good to be true.

Things that proved too good to be true usually were.

She was obviously the only one who was thinking in such terms, however, as Zaheer and P’Li were still staring at each other. P’Li’s expression was still shut down, which quickly drained the pronounced relief in Zaheer’s face and left behind—of all things—a strange mixture of resignation and shame before his expression shut down in turn. Seeing _that_ , P’Li’s expression didn’t shift, but her eyes flickered to the White Lotus in the room before returning to Zaheer, who—by his mirroring of P’Li’s glance and the loosening of his shoulders—had taken note of what P’Li was trying to indicate. After another couple of seconds of them glancing each other over for obvious injuries, Zaheer took three quick strides over to P’Li’s side and didn’t even try to sit down gracefully before he collapsed into P’Li’s arms and buried his face into the crook of her neck, accompanied by a quick exhalation that Ming-Hua was pretty sure didn’t come out a sob only because of his superb breath control. P’Li, for her part, just tightened her grip as best she could with her chains getting in the way and rested her chin on the top of Zaheer’s head, her expression unchanged but somehow still managing to gain a distinct edge that, in the past, had usually heralded violence against anyone who might dare try and interrupt. It was a pose Ming-Hua had seen numerous times before, and it had been cute until she had seen P’Li—seated in that exact same position with Zaheer—reduce someone to a pile of ash without even turning her head, and Ming-Hua had realized that the reason they arranged themselves like that was to ensure P’Li a clear line of fire to the door. Still cute, but terrifyingly so.

It didn’t occur to Ming-Hua until all of the White Lotus startled at Zaheer’s sudden movement how the whole thing read to someone who didn’t know them. At least two of them had shifted into firebending stances before everyone seemed to realize that it wasn’t an attack and everyone moved back into parade rest with a somewhat embarrassed ruffling of their robes.

Ming-Hua managed to restrain herself from either rolling her eyes or doing something dumb like getting sentimental, which were her two usual warring impulses whenever P’Li and Zaheer acted saccharine (which, at least in places where she could see, was thankfully fairly rare). “Good to see you too, Zaheer.”

Zaheer didn’t even give any indication that he had heard her, but she didn’t hold it against him. Prior experience had taught her there was no better way to turn Zaheer’s brain off than to put him in physical contact with P’Li, which was one of many reasons why they rarely touched in public. It wasn’t like P’Li showed any sign of there existing a universe outside of her and Zaheer either.

After about thirty seconds of that—where nothing more exciting happened than P’Li rearranging Zaheer to sit more comfortably in her lap and the White Lotus sentries trying and mostly failing to not look either intrigued or somewhat uncomfortable—Ming-Hua heard behind her, “You ever wonder how we both manage to be third wheels when there are four of us?” Ghazan, as usual, sounded more dryly amused than anything else, but there was still a decent slice of irritation thrown in; for reasons she’d never adequately understood, despite being more laidback in general, Ghazan had significantly less patience for the two lovebirds than she did.

Ming-Hua was proud of herself for managing to twist her smile successfully into a smirk before she turned around and said, “Never thought I’d be so happy to see your ugly mug again.”

Ghazan just grinned rakishly in reply as he (ineffectually) brushed his hair out of his eyes. Somehow, while weeks in captivity had just managed to dishevel the rest of them (and had given Zaheer especially the look of a crazed hermit), Ghazan’s scruff had grown out into a perfect, full beard, and the unwashed grease in his hair gave it a glossy sheen instead of the nasty stringiness everyone else had. If she hadn’t been as glad as she actually was to see him—safe and upright and without any of the despair in his eyes that he was occasionally prone to, that she’d half-expected after hearing what had been done to her friends—it would’ve made her want to spit.

“So,” Ghazan said, after they looked each other over—he also looked to be in better health than Ming-Hua had expected, though his manacles looked to be crafted out of some sort of wood instead of P’Li and Zaheer’s steel—and he walked over to sit beside her at the table, “They been like that for long?” He jerked his head in the lovers’ direction, where there seemed to be no acknowledgment of Ghazan’s entrance except that P’Li had closed her eyes, which was flattering if you knew her but otherwise wasn’t much of anything.

Ming-Hua shrugged. “Zaheer came in less than a minute before you did, so no.”

Ghazan snorted, but not even he could really begrudge them their moment after the month—or whatever, Ming-Hua realized she didn’t actually know how long ago it had been since they’d gotten their asses kicked—they’d had, so instead of making another snide comment, he turned to the nearest White Lotus sentry and said, “Any chance we can get some food? Something that isn’t blubbered seal jerky? Like… I don’t know… hey Ming-Hua, what’s good Water Tribe grub?”

“Seaweed stew,” said Ming-Hua. Like Ghazan even needed to ask; they’d gone out to enough Water Tribe restaurants together that he should have had her order memorized by now. Seaweed stew, in Ming-Hua’s opinion, was close to the perfect food. Tasty, hard to get wrong, and—more importantly than usual—something she could bend, meaning she could both eat it and—if the opportunity came up—drill a few skulls with it.

The guard, who Ming-Hua had pegged as kind of young, glanced at his older counterpart across the room with some desperation in his eyes. When he got no help from that quarter, he said, “… Master Katara will be here soon. You should direct all questions to her.”

Ghazan grinned again, looking delighted. “So you can talk. I was wondering.”

The sentry _blushed_ at that, of all things, but before the situation could get any more awkward, a door none of them had entered through was pushed open, and—as had been prophesized by the guard—in walked the old woman Ming-Hua was now ninety-nine percent sure was Katara, followed closely behind by a younger-but-still-old man in formal White Lotus robes and some more sentries.

That entrance, Zaheer noticed; he was on his feet before even the first of the new guards was through the door, but he hadn’t even stood up straight before one of the already present guards—one who had entered in the wake of Ghazan and seemed more on the ball than the others—made a fist as if she was grasping something and snapped her hand downward in one short, sharp motion, sending Zaheer crashing to his knees nearly on top of P’Li as the chain between his manacles was jerked to the floor.

Metalbender. Well shit.

The floor did have a thick rug covering the floor around the table, thankfully, but Zaheer still landed hard, his knees making an audible, painful-sounding thump against the hard wood beneath it. Zaheer’s face was mostly hidden by the fall of his hair (which had to irritate the hell out of him; distantly, Ming-Hua wondered what the White Lotus had done with all of his hair ties, of which he usually carried about twenty and farmed out long-sufferingly to the rest of them), but she could still see the flash of fury in his eyes before he visibly calmed himself and said, in a tone that those who didn’t know him might mistake for tranquil, “I take it I am not supposed to stand in respect when a great master enters the room?”

There were a tense couple of seconds, during which Ghazan leaned forward in a casual pose from which Ming-Hua knew he could push off into a tackle on a yuan, Ming-Hua considered the her usefulness in a fight without any water (she could maybe trip one sentry before she was taken out, if she was lucky, but that was still better than P’Li and Zaheer were likely to fare with a metalbender in the room), and P’Li (slowly) moved up onto one knee and placed her hands on Zaheer’s shoulders, though whether it was for emotional support or to stop him from doing something dumb, Ming-Hua wasn’t sure.

Probably the former. Zaheer was pretty good at letting blows to his own pride roll of his back, even if his defensiveness of everyone else’s was something of a running joke.

Katara, for her part, just raised an eyebrow and said mildly, “I appreciate your alacrity at defending me, Biyu, but if you remain that sensitive to threats against me during the duration of our time here, everyone is going to become tired very quickly. Let him up, please. I would prefer not to discourage courtesy, if possible.”

Biyu—and Ming-Hua was going to remember that name—nodded stiffly and unclenched her fist, and while Zaheer stayed on his knees, he was at least able to straighten up into a proper _seiza_ , from which he unconsciously mirrored Biyu by also nodding stiffly at Katara. “Master Katara.”

Katara nodded back more shallowly, looking as relaxed as if she dealt with this kind of shit every day. “Zaheer. Good to see you so lively.” Damn it, Ming-Hua hated people who she couldn’t read. She could never tell if they were actually being sarcastic, which made it difficult to determine whether or not the right reaction was to take offense and threaten the jackass accordingly. But then… even if Katara _was_ being a jackass, Ming-Hua doubted issuing threats at their new warden would go over well. As much as she already hated their new, comfortable little cage, she liked the idea of being sent off to what the White Lotus had originally planned even less.

She didn’t like Zaheer playing it nice, but neither could she say he was wrong to do so, at least until they figured out how to escape.

Behind Katara, the newest White Lotus sentries finally finished filing into the room, several of them carrying covered trays which they placed on the table. Katara seated herself on one of the free ends of the table, the old White Lotus officer stood a few paces back from the remaining one, and the sentries (who now numbered at eighteen at a glance, which made the room quite crowded) tried to hold up the walls unobtrusively, making Ming-Hua feel claustrophobic and itchy between her shoulder blades.

The tension was still so thick in the air that Ming-Hua could’ve cut it with a knife, which why she was more relieved than annoyed when Ghazan drawled, “Hey Zaheer. P’Li. How’s it been?”

P’Li didn’t so much as twitch—her sense of humor either shriveled up and died or turned completely acidic when she was pissed off (or afraid, though that was basically indistinguishable from pissed off when it came to P’Li), which was pretty much guaranteed to happen whenever someone thought to trespass against anyone she cared about, applying double to Zaheer—though Zaheer, at least, smiled faintly. “I’m fine. My apologies for not greeting you or Ming-Hua earlier.” His eyes flickered between both of them before returning to Katara. “And you?”

Ghazan shrugged. “Eh.”

“Could be better,” Ming-Hua agreed.

Katara, who watched this exchange with a pleasantly vague expression that Ming-Hua was already sick of (by this point it seemed more like a private joke than a genuine façade of senility, and there was little Ming-Hua despised more than jokes at her expense), chose then to say, “I hope you’re all at least in a mood to eat, at least.” She followed up by reaching out and pulling the covers off the trays, revealing the first steaming hot food Ming-Hua had seen in however-how-long it had been (she was really going to have to ask soon).

It smelled and looked delicious—though, if she were honest with herself, anything would have by that point—but that just made it seem more like a taunt. There were no drinks. There was no soup. Not even all the food together contained enough moisture to bend into usable arms, even if that wouldn’t have left all the meat dry and tasteless.

There was, in short, no goddamned way for her to eat it unless she wanted to stick her face in it like she was a fucking polar dog.

They’d had to feed her in prison. This hadn’t terribly bothered her at the time; she’d been drugged to the point she could hardly sit up straight, so it wasn’t likely she would have been able to feed herself even if she did have arms. It had also allowed her to bite the fingers of one of her most despicable jailers down to the bone, which had led to them starving her for a few days but had been totally worth it for the taste of his blood in her mouth and the memory of his high-pitched, pathetic scream as he jerked away.

This was different. This seemed designed to be humiliating, instead of just irritatingly inconvenient. And she had learned when she was a child that when it came to such games, it was preferable to just refuse to play.

Despite considering Zaheer kind of a pretentious asshole half the time, one of the reasons she counted him among her closest friends was that he had been the one to teach her that it was even better to change the nature of the game entirely. Or, failing that, if the game was so inherently unfair that it wasn’t even worth joining in, to destroy the entire goddamn board. Learning that had been a fun evening, even if neither she nor Zaheer could entirely recall the events that had led to them setting the governor’s mansion on fire or even agree on what had happened beyond it involving a dead buzzard wasp, an argument with a drunk about totalitarianism, and the discovery that it was a bad idea to drink the juice of the cacti that surrounded the Misty Palms Oasis.

If only burning their problems to ashes was as viable an option here. If only the White Lotus didn’t hold all of the cards. If only she could make her stupid metaphor make any consistent sense when she was this hungry.

The only comfort was the fact that her friends seemed to have similar sentiments, as none of them moved, even as Ghazan’s eyes narrowed and his hands clenched in his lap. P’Li and Zaheer were less embarrassing about it, at least, as P’Li kept her eyes trained on Biyu like she was considering the best way to tear out her throat while Zaheer, for his part, continued to look calmly at Katara.

The weird thing was that Katara looked nearly as displeased as Ghazan, the first real emotion Ming-Hua had ever seen out of the woman. The frown she shot the White Lotus guard closest to the door she’d come through was pointed. “Tikaani. I believe you’ve forgotten something?”

Tikaani, for some reason, glanced at the old man, who nodded minutely as if he thought he was being subtle, and it was only then that Tikaani hurried out the door he had entered through. None of this seemed to escape Katara’s attention, whose lips thinned even further as she stared at the old guy for a few uncomfortable seconds before seeming to decide to let it go and smiled brightly at the four of them. “My apologies for delaying dinner by a few minutes, but I thought it best to go over some ground rules while we all have something to look forward to.

“You have all just come from your assigned rooms. As some of you may have noticed, all of your bedrooms have lavatories and bathing facilities coming off them. Running water will be available between the hours of nine and eleven in the evenings and mornings. For a frame of reference, it is currently eight forty-five in the evening, so you should all be able to bathe after we eat.”

Well, that explained the extra door in her room. At least the current lack of running water meant she had an excuse for why she hadn’t noticed.

“The gymnasium and library are through there,” Katara pointed at the door Tikaani had just left through, “and those rooms along with this one are the common areas, accessible to all four of you during the day. Both the gym and the library have clocks to help you keep track of the time.

“Your private rooms are intended for your individual use; you are not to enter each other’s, and you are expected to be in your own between the hours of ten at night and six in the morning, at which times your doors will be locked and the lights will be out in the bedrooms. You will be on your own during that time, barring some emergency. Your rooms will be inspected on an irregular basis, but otherwise will be left alone by the sentries.

“Requests may be made to any of the sentries, but are best made to me if they are not urgent. If they are reasonable, they may be granted, depending on circumstances such as availability.

“Laundry is done once a week. Any bed linens, towels, or clothing that needs to be washed can be left there,” she pointed to a large basket in an alcove next to the door that led to the library and the gym.

“Meals will be served at seven in the morning, noon, and five at night. You are not to try to initiate any physical contact with the sentries or myself, or attempt to leave this facility. I would also prefer it if you didn’t damage the books, as most of them belong to me. Good conduct may eventually allow you for you to go outside for limited periods of time and with an escort, along with… other privileges.” The significant look she shot them gave Ming-Hua the distinct feeling she should know what that meant.

While she was still puzzling over that, Katara turned to her. “Based on the difficulties with restricting waterbending, you are subject to specific conditions. First, you will be locked in your room from sundown to sunrise during the three days of the full moon each month.

“Second- ah, there you are, Tikaani.”

Tikaani, who had indeed just come back into the room, bowed deeply to Katara before handing to her- holy shit.

Was that a water skin?

Despite the fact she could actually _sense_ the water in it, Ming-Hua couldn’t quite believe it even as Katara reached over and dropped it by her side. “Second, that is all the water you are allowed to bend, bathing excepted. There are a number of waterbenders on staff in addition to myself, and if it is ever detected that you have measurably increased the amount of water you are bending, there will be consequences. When, due to evaporation, you need the water replenished, you are to hand over the water skin before you go to bed, and it will be returned to you full the next morning. You are not to attempt to refill it yourself.

“I think that’s about it. Any questions?”

Ming-Hua couldn’t think of any herself; the fact that Katara had actually _given her water_ was still blowing too much of her mind. Ghazan, however, raised a hand. Katara looked at him politely. “Yes?”

“Can us entering each other’s rooms be one of those privileges we can earn?”

Katara blinked. “I wasn’t considering it. Why?”

Until Ming-Hua actually saw P’Li make a ‘shut up’ gesture at Ghazan and Zaheer barely manage to stop himself from face palming, she didn’t know what Ghazan was driving at either. Once she figured it out, it was only because of how difficult it was to forget the presence of the White Lotus in the room that she didn’t start snickering.

Strangely, Katara seemed to get it as well, and her mouth twitched once before she covered it up with a cough. “… Never mind. That seems like it would be reasonable, if subject to certain limitations. Ask me again in a couple of months.”

The old man in the formal robes, on the other hand, certainly did _not_ get it. “What on earth was that about?”

“I’ll explain later, Aujak,” Katara said, her mouth again smoothed over into a pleasant smile. The look she shot him was significantly less so. “We have some other matters we need to discuss, at any rate.

“Any _other_ questions?”

“Yes,” said P’Li. She jerked her head at the door opposite the one that apparently led to the gym and the library. “Where does that lead?”

“My rooms,” said Katara calmly, as if it were common for wardens to share living spaces with their prisoners.

When no one said anything else, Katara seemed to take their silence as a sign that things were settled. “Alright then. Glad everything is cleared up. Just one more matter before dinner. Biyu? Iluk?”

Biyu nodded as she had already been briefed on what she was expected to do, and with a twist and another quick jerk of her fist, she cleanly yanked P’Li and Zaheer’s manacles off and into her grip, along with a collar around Zaheer’s neck that Ming-Hua hadn’t even noticed before. The plate stayed shackled over P’Li’s third eye, but that was the only sign of their bondage that remained.

Alright, maybe she wouldn’t kill the asshole at the first chance she got.

Iluk—the blusher from earlier—walked over to and kneeled beside Ghazan. This time he was all business as he said, “Put out your wrists please.” When Ghazan obliged with another grin, Iluk pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked Ghazan’s own wooden fetters before removing them and locking them to his belt. He then returned to his post while Ghazan rubbed at his wrists with a thoughtful look first at Iluk, then at Katara.

Katara just smiled. “Now that everyone has their hands free, I’d say it’s time to eat, wouldn’t you?”

-*O*-

The water skin didn’t hold a lot of water; just enough for one decently strong arm or two kind of pathetic ones. She initially wavered between the _I can’t believe she gave me my arms back_ and the _if she thinks I can’t kill with this, she’s wrong_ knee-jerk impulses, and she didn’t know if it was misplaced gratefulness (it was Katara’s goddamned brother’s fault as much as the White Lotus’s that the last month had even _happened_ ), common sense, or just giving up like a pathetic weakling that led her to go with the former, at least for the moment.

Dinner was as delicious as it smelled, even if being surrounded on all sides by White Lotus kind of ruined it. She hoped she’d get used to it, in time.

It struck her a second later how defeatist that hope was. Better to plan for never _having_ to get used to it.

At any rate, the sentries seemed to disperse a bit after the old man—Aujak, she supposed—left, and Katara after a dessert of egg-custard tart (egg-custard _tart_ , by the spirits, she knew all of this was for Katara’s benefit but the meal was better than anything she’d had in years) headed off to her rooms after biding them all a goodnight. It wasn’t actually privacy, but it was probably the best they were going to get until they broke out.

The first thing P’Li did after Katara’s departure was lean over and punch Ghazan in the arm. “That,” she intoned dangerously after Ghazan cursed and glared at her, “Was not your place to say.”

Ghazan snorted. “Who said it was for _your_ benefit?”

The implications of _that_ nearly led to Ming-Hua following P’Li’s example before Zaheer said smoothly, “I’m flattered, Ghazan. I didn’t think I was your type.”

Which led to Ghazan punching _him_ in the shoulder, then they grinned at each other and clasped hands in what Ming-Hua and P’Li had only determined after a long discussion a few years back to be the closest they could get to a hug while still being suitably macho.

“Good to see you too, jackass,” Ghazan said cheerfully. “And glad you finally decided to talk to me, P’Li, though I’d prefer less hitting next time.”

P’Li just _tsked_ and looked away, to which Ghazan shrugged and turned back to Zaheer. “So, what’s next?”

Zaheer—who may have enjoyed Ghazan’s sense of humor about 10,000 times more than P’Li did most of the time, but as ever was sensitive to his lover’s mood—leaned against P’Li and wrapped an arm around her waist, causing her to noticeably relax. “Well, my next step was going to take a bath and get some sleep in a real bed, but after that…” He looked at Ghazan and Ming-Hua seriously. “How much has Katara told you about her plans for the Avatar?”

“That if we’re good, we get to train her,” said Ghazan casually, and Zaheer nodded.

“What?” Ming-Hua blurted out, causing both of them to turn to her, looking confused. Not as confused as she was, though. “Is that woman nuts? Why the hell would she allow that?”

“Did she not talk to you?” Zaheer asked.

“They kept Ming-Hua loaded full of sedatives to keep her from bending,” said P’Li bluntly.

Having seen in the past how incredibly awkward attempts at sympathy were coming from either Ghazan or Zaheer, Ming-Hua waved it off with a smirk. “Better than getting the shit kicked out of me like you guys. I bet you wish you remembered as little as I do of the past several weeks.”

Her mission proved successful, though Ghazan getting awkward on his own behalf wasn’t much of an improvement. “So, they told you?”

“If by ‘told,’ you mean ‘taunted with,’ yeah. Though I’d know anyway.” She turned to Zaheer. “I do _not_ remember you getting that scar from the fight.”

“I did, actually,” Zaheer replied calmly. “Chief Sokka is not the most skilled of swordsmen, but he knows how to feint, and… I admit I was not thinking as clearly as I should have been.”

At that, P’Li actually laughed, though she softened it as she wouldn’t have for anyone else, moving a hand to Zaheer’s brow and rubbing her thumb lightly along his new scar. “Got this defending my honor, then?”

Zaheer shook his head. It was only because Ming-Hua was sitting so close that she could hear Zaheer when he murmured, so quietly it seemed half to himself, “I was afraid he’d killed you.” His grip around P’Li’s waist tightened, though his next words—aimed at Ghazan—were dry. “You bleeding out in the snow wasn’t the most inspiring sight either. I’m not sure I was thinking at all, truly, by the time I was taken down as well.”

“Well,” said Ming-Hua, equally dryly, in the uncomfortable silence that followed, “I think it’s safe to say that we fucked up. Somehow the White Lotus were warned, and-” she cut herself off. Not because of the presence of the White Lotus in the room—though she had actually managed to forget that for a second—but because she had done a quick count in her head of how many people had known their plan in any detail, a second count of how many of those people were in the room with her now, and had come up one short.

There were other explanations. They had taken a commercial ship to the South Pole. Others had seen them, and they were an unusual group even with all their most outstanding features covered up; their presence becoming common knowledge among those with informants in the right places wasn’t out of the question.

But they weren’t important. They had, purposefully, never done anything before worthy of note in such a way that their involvement had any reason to leak out. Nonentities shouldn’t have prompted the presence of the Fire Lord, the only living Airbending Master, and Chief Sokka, not to mention the several dozen White Lotus that had surrounded them that night.

So there weren’t really other explanations at all. Just one that she couldn’t accept because it didn’t make any sense. Unalaq had been the one to come up with the plan, the one who had thought it was a good idea to kidnap Korra and raise her away from the White Lotus in the first place. He was also their _friend_ ; she’d known him for years, and Zaheer had known him even longer. Why would he set them up to fail?

By the looks on the other’s faces, they had long ago thought of the same possibility she was just now starting to consider. Only Zaheer, however, seemed equally unwilling to believe it. P’Li just looked grim.

Ghazan seemed more bitterly satisfied than anything, but then, he had always disliked Unalaq. “You know, it would serve him right if we-”

“No.” Zaheer’s voice had an edge to it that Ghazan was smart enough to respect, though he did shoot P’Li a look in a seeming appeal for her support. P’Li just shook her head, causing Ghazan to scoff quietly but not press the issue further.

After a few seconds, Zaheer spoke again, his voice back to its usual calm. “We’ve gotten distracted from Ming-Hua’s original question. Master Katara wants Korra provided with more than the White Lotus can give her, and she believes we can make up for the deficiency.” He was being deliberately vague, but Ming-Hua knew enough to read between the lines; so Katara wasn’t entirely happy about what the White Lotus had been reduced to either. “She knows enough about our original mission to be aware that the chance of such an opportunity provides incentive for us to cooperate with her. The more we cooperate, the more freedom we will be given to do what we want.”

“Freedom isn’t something to be given or taken on some old woman’s whim,” Ghazan said quietly, all traces of his usual humor for once completely absent. “I don’t care who she is.”

Zaheer flinched. “I know.” His lips remained slightly parted, but whatever else he had planned to say, what Ming-Hua knew he thought he _had_ to say—“We have to put up with this for now,” “This is the only opportunity we’re going to get to accomplish what we came here to do,” “Things would be so much worse if Katara hadn’t intervened on our behalf”—instead Ming-Hua had to watch as her friend choked on the words that she knew—they all knew—were a betrayal of everything they lived for.

She knew as well as Zaheer that sometimes personal liberty needed to be sacrificed for the greater good. She knew even better that it would kill Zaheer to have to say so, perhaps literally in the sense that he might actually prefer to die. Zaheer’s two greatest strengths were also his biggest weaknesses: his uncompromising idealism, and his inability to reconcile that with the duty he felt he owed his friends. He would be more than willing to give up his own freedom if it led, eventually, to greater freedom for others. He also wasn’t an idiot, and knew their current chances of escaping alive from wherever the hell they were, much less be able to grab Korra as they originally planned, were—at the moment—basically nil.

But having to tell Ghazan that? Or—even worse—P’Li? By the spirits, it would have been more merciful to continue torturing him in solitary.

Fortunately, no one expected Ming-Hua to take their tender feelings into account. “We came here for a reason. We knew the risks. We screwed up, and we’re damn lucky we have the chance to salvage something out of this clusterfuck. I’m not willing to die just because you can’t stand the idea of not going outside for a few months.”

Ghazan glared at her, obviously pissed. Good. P’Li looked more resigned than anything, which was less good, but Zaheer was already taking her hand in his and whispering something to her at a register Ming-Hua couldn’t hear even sitting less than five feet away, so she’d probably be okay.

Mission accomplished, Ming-Hua pushed herself to her feet. “Thanks for filling me in, but I’m so disgusting I’m beginning to smell myself. I’m going to go take a bath. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Over P’Li’s shoulder, Zaheer nodded at her—in gratitude, in solidarity, it didn’t really matter, they had all roles to play and she didn’t need thanks to perform hers—before turning back to P’Li, who seemed half asleep already. She felt Ghazan’s glare continue to bore into her back as she left, but fuck him; he wasn’t the only one stuck here, and he wasn’t special just because he was the only one of them who hadn’t yet learned what it was like to be locked away.

-*O*-

The bath was nice. The fact that she had a bath was even nicer, and the soap even smelled kind of good. It was with some regret that she let all the water drain when she was done, but nearly falling asleep in the tub was enough of a clue to figure out she wouldn’t be staging any breakouts tonight.

The thought of getting back into her disgusting clothes made her feel kind of queasy, but fortunately the dresser wasn’t just for show, and there was a small array of underthings, robes, pants, and shirts to choose from, though no shoes were in sight. She decided to put off worrying about that to the morning—what little there was to worry about; the White Lotus had no reason to give shoes to people they didn’t want going outside—and pulled on the softest-looking of the robes, barely bothering to bend her clothing dry and the water back into its skin before falling onto the bed and straight into blissful, un-drugged unconsciousness.

The next few weeks were a bit of an adjustment period for everyone. Breakfast, as the one meal Katara didn’t seem determined to eat with them, was consistently the most boring, but it still wasn’t _bad_ , just usually some rice porridge and a few winter apples. The fact that Avatar Aang had apparently left at least a few books and scrolls on Air Nomad culture and airbending to his wife—more importantly, books and scrolls Zaheer hadn’t read before—meant that during the first few days of their imprisonment it was difficult to drag Zaheer out of the library even for meals. Fortunately, Zaheer was a quick reader, but less fortunately, he was one of those people who liked to share what he had read, and Ming-Hua quickly gained at least a grudging appreciation for Katara’s frequent presence, as she had apparently read all the airbender books she had brought with her and seemed more than happy to join Zaheer’s impromptu book club.

The rest of them didn’t settle in quite so easily. Ghazan ignored her for most of the second day, but then seemed to realize that he didn’t want to talk to Katara, P’Li wasn’t in a mood to put up with him, and Zaheer might as well have been on a different continent for how accessible he was for the purposes of simple conversation, so his rather pathetic attempt to nurse his grudge had withered and died by the time dinner rolled around. Ming-Hua was more than willing to amiably snark about the Southern Water Tribe cuisine, but she knew she was coming out more snappish than she intended; the presence of the White Lotus sentries at her back made it too easy to feel like she was about to get a knife between her ribs. Her current vision of their future didn’t make it any easier to relax.

There were no windows in the complex. Sometimes, she felt like she could sense water when she leaned against certain walls, but it was distant and muted. She knew they were still somewhere at the South Pole, but she didn’t know where. She could make some educated guesses: based on some overheard discussions between Zaheer and Katara, Katara was meant to be Korra’s waterbending teacher, so they wouldn’t be too far from wherever Korra was being housed, but it was probably at least a few miles away. It wouldn’t be anywhere near exposed rock, the sea, or any settlements, to ensure that if they did make it outside, Ghazan would have nothing to bend and they wouldn’t have anywhere to go that wasn’t swarming with White Lotus.

That didn’t narrow it down a whole lot.

And all of that was wishful thinking, anyway. It was true that her bending wasn’t restricted in any meaningful way by the prison’s construction; if she staged an attack at a time running water was available, she would have all the access to her element that she needed. Her problem was Katara, the one waterbender in the world she wasn’t confident she could take. The woman was old, yes, but that often just corresponded to a commensurate increase in skill. If Katara could as much as subdue her bending, she was borderline useless, and chances were the old master could do a lot more than that.

The prison’s design _did_ fuck over Ghazan. Everything was built out of wood; there seemed to be no stone anywhere in the complex, and the only exposed metal was carried by metalbending sentries (of which, besides Biyu, Ming-Hua had seen at least three) or chained over P’Li’s third eye, so Ghazan wouldn’t have much to work with even if he had been a metalbender, which as far as she knew he wasn’t. That just left him with physical attacks, and while Ghazan was decent in a street fight, she doubted his efficacy against the White Lotus’s benders.

The plate over her third eye meant that P’Li couldn’t combustion bend, but otherwise her firebending was unrestricted. Except that her offensive firebending was kind of shit, since she’d hardly ever used it. She’d have plenty of time to practice in here, but only her defensive capabilities had been proven to the extent Ming-Hua felt comfortable relying on them.

Depending on the metal, Ming-Hua thought she had a decent chance of just shearing off the chains holding the plate over P’Li’s third eye, but she doubted it would be that simple; if they had taken so many precautions just to limit Ghazan’s access to metal, it was unlikely they had been careless about the one metal he _could_ touch in this place. Which meant it was platinum, and the only way it could be removed was with a key or through the fury of an angry god.

Zaheer was best off, next to Ming-Hua herself; he was one of the most skilled martial artists she had ever met, and a lot of his training was geared towards taking down benders, with one summer spent with a former Kyoshi Warrior ensuring he was at least competent with chi blocking. When sparring with Ghazan in the past, sans lavabending he had consistently won two times out of three, and Ghazan was a master in his own right even without his special trick.

That being said, a problem for both him and P’Li (and Ghazan, though she had already largely discounted his worth in this theoretical scenario) was that if Biyu or another metalbender managed to tag them with some of those cuffs they carried around, they would effectively be out of the fight, as the only psychic bending P’Li was capable of had been neutralized unless she wanted to chance blowing her own head off. Both Zaheer and P’Li (especially Zaheer) were fairly adept at dodging, so if they took out the metalbenders fast enough—if they could handle the twenty-odd other sentries that were present somewhere on the prison’s premises at all times, if they could catch Katara off guard when she didn’t have access to water, if there wasn’t anything else blocking their way out—it might be okay, but that was a lot of ‘ifs’ for a plan that had such dire consequences if they failed.

She couldn’t even talk it over with her friends to see if any of them had better ideas without the White Lotus overhearing. So for now they were stuck, their foreseeable futures encompassed entirely in these rooms, with no say over their own fates and even less privacy. No wonder Ghazan was already going stir crazy. No wonder P’Li was… actually, what P’Li was doing didn’t make a lot of sense, because she seemed to be avoiding Zaheer. Even stranger, Zaheer didn’t seem to care, or at the least he didn’t seem to be letting it bother hm.

At first Ming-Hua chalked it up to his distraction with the books, but even after he had finished all the ones he found most interesting and looked up long enough to notice Ghazan was practically climbing the walls, the fact that P’Li was purposefully ignoring him seemed to concern Zaheer not at all. In the mornings, which he spent gently shoving Ghazan through an alternating series of exercises and sparring matches in the gymnasium until Ghazan was too tired to do anything but breathe, or during the afternoons which he spent reading in the library, he didn’t even look up when P’Li would occasionally enter the room and just as quickly exit it. Even at mealtimes they seemed to be working mutually to sit as far apart from each other as possible.

It was weird, and Ghazan admitted he had gone to bed shortly after she had the first night and before P’Li and Zaheer, so if the two _had_ fought, it had been after he’d left. Both she and Ghazan refused to ask the sentries what had happened, P’Li just muttered something about refusing to give the White Lotus any satisfaction when asked and generally acted as if she hadn’t slept in a few days, and Zaheer just shrugged and said he was willing to respect P’Li’s feelings on the matter but declined to say what ‘the matter’ was. Pushing the issue just seemed to make him unhappy and didn’t yield anything useful, so Ming-Hua decided to let it go for at least a little while.

‘The matter,’ as it was, came to a head the morning of day ten when P’Li walked in on one of Ghazan and Zaheer’s sparring matches and deliberately sat next to Ming-Hua near the door. Ming-Hua nearly didn’t say anything, but the sentries posted in the gym in the mornings—whose numbers in the past week had shifted gradually to being mostly drawn from the female half of the guards—seemed largely enthralled with the spectacle of Zaheer wiping the floor with Ghazan for the third time that day, so she decided to risk being overheard and murmured, “You sure you want to be here?”

P’Li didn’t take her eyes off Zaheer—not that Ming-Hua could blame her, for all that he was several inches shorter than Ghazan and tended to hide it under loose clothing, the man was built like a brick shithouse—as she replied with her usual quiet intensity, “I’ve decided I am tired of letting the White Lotus dictate what few choices I have left.”

To that, Ming-Hua could only shrug and follow P’Li’s gaze to the match, which admittedly was worth watching even though Ming-Hua had seen its like about a dozen times in the past week. When it came to strikes, Zaheer outclassed Ghazan so badly it wasn’t even funny (except that it totally was). Ghazan knew this and tended to try and do his best to turn the spar into a grappling match, except that never worked either because Zaheer knew it was coming and always danced out of the way. Even when Zaheer let Ghazan catch him out of pity, not only was Zaheer the next best thing to double jointed and trained in how to fight grapplers, but Ghazan was on the lean side for an earthbender, meaning that Zaheer sometimes broke out of Ghazan’s holds through brute strength alone whenever he grew tired of finessing his way out.

All of this meant that the matches tended to be more instructional than anything resembling actual fighting, but it usually wasn’t terribly long before their shirts came off, which was really the whole point as far as Ming-Hua was concerned. Zaheer was actually in the process of wiping down his face with his discarded tank top when he caught sight of P’Li.

For a long moment, the room seemed suspended in silence. Neither P’Li nor Zaheer were visibly breathing, and Zaheer had frozen completely, which Ghazan seemed to take as an invitation to kick Zaheer’s legs out from under him, leading to Zaheer coming a hair’s breadth from cracking his skull open on the floor.

Ghazan startled upright, obviously not having expected to actually catch Zaheer off-guard. “Shit! You okay?”

“Ow,” said Zaheer from the floor, sounding a little stunned. After a couple seconds, he rolled onto his back and rubbed at his right shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the impact from his fall, before carefully rotating it a few times. “And yes.”

P’Li was less sanguine about it; she was on the mats before Zaheer even managed to push himself into a sit, shoving at Ghazan hard and making him stagger back a few steps. “What the hell was that?”

“Don’t blame him,” said Zaheer, crossing his legs at the ankles and still gingerly rotating his shoulder. “I told him anything goes when we’re on the mats. It’s my fault for getting distracted.”

That just made P’Li round on him instead. “Is that way of telling me you don’t _want_ to be distracted?”

This failed to get a rise out of Zaheer, though the muscles in his shoulders and back noticeably tightened. “Why are you here, P’Li?”

P’Li huffed, looking away for a moment before she said as if it didn’t matter, “I was wondering if you were up for a fight with someone who could actually give you a decent challenge.”

“Ming-Hua graced me with a spar earlier today,” said Zaheer calmly, but he still pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the opposite side of the room before turning back to P’Li and shifting into loose, open-palmed stance that centered his weight over the balls of his feet.

Ghazan, who had edged away while P’Li and Zaheer were bickering, sat down heavily next to Ming-Hua and downed half the contents of his water bottle in one long swallow before muttering, “I feel like I should be insulted.”

“Well, you do kind of suck.” Ignoring Ghazan’s half-hearted attempt at an indignant “Hey,” Ming-Hua turned to one of the White Lotus sentries she knew to be a firebender and said, “You might want to get prepared to put out some fires."

It was impossible to forget that Kazumi was White Lotus, but at least she was not entirely humorless. “Metaphorical or literal?” The gout of flame that took up half the room a second later—pushing some of the sentries hurriedly closer to the walls—at least partially answered the question.

Normally, with P’Li bereft of her combustion bending (not that she ever used it in a spar anyway), Ming-Hua would’ve given five-to-one odds in Zaheer’s favor. They didn’t spar often, but she had seen him take on firebenders more skilled with traditional firebending than P’Li before.

This… wasn’t quite the same. When he was in a mood to finish things quickly, like he seemed to be now, Zaheer usually just closed the distance as fast and in as direct a line as possible, which against benders unaccustomed to fighting non-benders that aggressive almost always ended the fight within seconds of it beginning. Using that tactic was also how Zaheer had gotten most of his scars, but it was undoubtedly effective against the unprepared.

Against people who knew him, it was a dumb move, and Zaheer had the bruises to know it. But this was also his fifth spar of the day, he had been pushing himself for nearly three hours, and even sitting twenty feet away, Ming-Hua could see the trembling of his hands that signaled he was nearing the end of his endurance. That, combined with the weird energy between him and P’Li, made the spar in general seem like a terrible idea, but there was no way Ming-Hua was getting in the middle of that.

She wasn’t really surprised when Zaheer ducked under P’Li’s initial attack and kept on heading straight towards her, nor when P’Li thrust up a wall of flame to block his path and Zaheer rolled through it without even slowing, the fire licking at his skin but being put out before it did any serious damage. P’Li also knowing the tactics Zaheer defaulted to when he was too tired to think straight was something Ming-Hua was aware of, but it still startled her when P’Li planned accordingly and gut punched Zaheer before he was even halfway out of his roll, ending the fight abruptly as Zaheer folded back in on himself and collapsed to the ground. P’Li pinned him there before he even managed to straighten out on his own, with her knees on his shoulders and a fire dagger positioned a few inches above his left eye. “Give up.”

When Zaheer didn’t immediately reply (though in his defense it may have been because he was still wheezing from the punch), P’Li shifted more of her weight onto her knees, causing Zaheer to hiss at the added pressure on the bruise he had gotten from his earlier fall. “Yield. _Now_.”

Zaheer still said nothing, and Ming-Hua couldn’t really see his face from her angle, but obviously some silent communication went on, because within only a few seconds the fire dagger was extinguished and P’Li had buried her hands in Zaheer’s hair and rested their foreheads together, her legs now somewhat more comfortably positioned tangled up in Zaheer’s instead of grinding into his most recent injury. Zaheer, for his part, raised his left hand and ran his thumb along the shell of P’Li’s ear, then seemed to run out of energy and just let it settle on top of P’Li’s wrist, his eyes falling closed soon after.

It was a disturbingly intimate scene that gave Ming-Hua more than a bit of whiplash considering the violence that had immediately preceded it, and it was on the tip of Ming-Hua’s tongue to yell at them to get a room before remembering that they couldn’t. Abruptly P’Li’s actions as of late made a lot more sense to her; P’Li was an intensely private person, and after she was beyond her initial rush of joy at seeing them all again, she had likely found the idea of the White Lotus witnessing anything between her and Zaheer abhorrent. She was also accustomed to—if not, in retrospect, dependent upon—her and Zaheer sharing a room and a certain amount of physical contact, and apparently P’Li’s distaste for public displays of affection had lost enough ground to that for her not to give a shit anymore.

Zaheer, who had never given a shit, seemed content to just lie there and act as P’Li’s bed, his hand lightly entwining with hers.

“You know,” Ghazan whispered to her, “If we weren’t here, I am one-hundred percent convinced they’d be having sex right now.”

Ming-Hua would have agreed if they hadn’t both looked ten seconds away from unconsciousness, but as it was said nothing.

Some of the sentries shifted uncomfortably when P’Li and Zaheer completely failed to move after that—P’Li literally might have fallen asleep—though Kazumi seemed unperturbed and doused the smoldering remains of P’Li’s wall of fire with a wave of her hand before turning to Ghazan and Ming-Hua and saying, “The water’s going to get cut off within the next fifteen minutes. I’d go grab a bath while I had the chance if I were you.”

Neither Ghazan nor Ming-Hua got up—there was no way she was leaving her friends alone like this surrounded by White Lotus, and Ghazan likely felt the same though he seemed determined to be as fascinated as possible with his water bottle—and after a few seconds Kazumi sighed and left the room herself.

Ming-Hua couldn’t be certain that Kazumi said something to Katara, but Katara giving permission that evening for P’Li to sleep in Zaheer’s rooms at night from then on as long as she didn’t mind being locked in with him (she didn’t) did seem like awfully convenient timing. They were fortunately all spared having to witness their more private gestures of affection after that, even if Zaheer did acquire a tendency to doze with his head in P’Li’s lap that he didn’t seem inclined to shake.

-*O*-

During the following four months, Ming-Hua: sparred with either P’Li or Zaheer once a day, read through the third of the books in the library that made up the non-terrible fiction section, convinced the more gregarious half of the sentries to give her their life stories, told stories as obnoxiously as possible to Ghazan about the other half, taught herself several different braiding styles from an old picture book and practiced on whoever was willing to sit still long enough (usually P’Li, who also liked to reciprocate in kind, but sometimes Ghazan was in a good enough mood after he’d eaten or Zaheer made the mistake of meditating in a common area), and inadvertently found herself the group hairdresser once it became obvious that the White Lotus weren’t willing to hand out razors and Ming-Hua’s ice blades proved the only way to keep Zaheer and Ghazan’s facial hair under control without an accompanying horrible burning smell. As of yet, all requests to go outside had been denied.

It was getting to the point that Ming-Hua wondered if Katara was just testing how long they could go without seeing the sun before one of them snapped when Katara approached her one day after breakfast and said, “I am going to the compound today to train Korra. You would have to meet her parents first, but you are welcome to come if you’d like.”

What. “What?”

“Huh?” said Ghazan, who as always had been lulled partially into a stupor by the feeling of Ming-Hua pulling on his hair, which was why Ming-Hua was privately convinced he didn’t allow it very often. Zaheer and P’Li had already headed off to the gymnasium for the morning, which was why Katara had probably chosen that particular moment to talk to her.

“Just Ming-Hua,” Katara qualified. “Korra is nowhere near ready to move onto her earthbending training, but I think she would benefit from seeing some unconventional waterbending styles. She seems to think waterbending is dull, and I think it would be best to disabuse her of that notion as quickly as possible.”

Dull? Waterbending? “I’ll show her dull,” Ming-Hua growled, abandoning Ghazan’s half-finished waterfall braid and pushing herself to her feet.

Katara smiled dryly. “That’s the spirit I was looking for, but you might want to tone it down a bit before you meet Tonraq and Senna. You are going to be their first impression since Tonraq fought you and your friends half a year ago, and it will go significantly easier for everybody if you make it a good one.”

Oh crap. “Oh crap. I’m not the best choice for this.”

Katara just smiled again. “You may be surprised.” She glanced down at Ghazan. “Tell Zaheer and P’Li we’ll be gone for the day, will you?” She then headed in the direction of the door that Ming-Hua had thought led to Katara’s own rooms, but in retrospect made sense to also be at least one of the ways outside; the third door in the hallway that led to the gym and library went down to the kitchens and White Lotus sentries’ sleeping areas, which they hadn’t been given access to but had seen White Lotus tromp into and out of often enough to know what they were for. She had never seen anyone leave the compound, and she didn’t think any of her friends had either, but there was no way Katara would have set things up that she would have to go through them from her bedroom to get outside.

So she followed Katara through the doorway, past a split in the hallway where Katara turned left, then down a flight of stairs. Then another. And another. At some point she glanced back and noticed that at the beginning of each flight there was a metal portcullis receded into the ceiling and felt a chill run down her back. Gilded cage still meant _cage_. Right.

It took several minutes before they reached another (closed) door—and even from several feet away she could feel the cold radiating from it, the promise of snow and ice at long last—at which point Katara stopped her and pointed at an alcove recessed into the wall. “There should be some boots and clothing in there that should fit you. Even with the sled it is a bit of a trip.”

The idea of putting off a glimpse of freedom for even another minute seemed revolting, but freezing to death didn’t seem like a terribly bright idea either, so Ming-Hua laced up the first pair of boots she saw that didn’t look egregiously oversized and the fluffiest looking of the fur coats. Katara from a drawer pulled out her own set of clothing which seemed to fit her much better than Ming-Hua’s did, but Ming-Hua had long ago resigned herself to being unfashionable; it wasn’t like anyone designed clothing for armless people. At least she would be warm.

Only once they were both fully attired did Katara pull out a key and unlock the door, and for the first time in half a year, Ming-Hua…

She had nearly forgotten the color of the sky. The brightness of the sun. It had been so long since she had needed to look at anything more than fifty feet away that it took a moment for her eyes to focus, to see the great, empty plain that lay before them. She had to blink a few times; stupid, how the frigid air caused her to tear up.

There was so much snow. She actually felt herself breathing in bits of it.

“I’m not going to tell you not to bend out here.”

Ming-Hua turned to Katara standing behind her, then was almost immediately distracted by what lay behind _her_. So she looked up. And up. And...

Huh. Talk about non-traditional design.

“That is one huge metal pillar.”

Katara nodded. “About fifteen stories. Amazing what a dedicated team of metalbenders and carpenters can accomplish in a few weeks.”

This seemed like important intel worth sharing as quickly as possible. At the same time, the idea of voluntarily returning to her cage so soon after leaving it made her stomach curl.

“You said something about a sled?”

Katara nodded and starting walking around to the other side of the pillar, where two sleds, two teams of sled dogs, and two White Lotus sentries waited, with the sentries just finishing packing up the sleds. Katara got on one and gestured for Ming-Hua to do the same on the other, with the two sentries who were apparently the dogs’ mushers getting on behind. Hers glanced at her uncertainly. “Can you hold on?”

Ming-Hua rolled her eyes and froze her sleeves to the handle bars and her boots to the foot boards in response. She wasn’t asked any more questions after that.

The first few minutes of the trip she spent with her eyes closed, just enjoying the feeling of the wind on her face. Then she realized that was stupid and she should make sure she knew how to get between the prison and the White Lotus compound on her own, so she glanced back to get her bearings—even half a mile away, the prison pillar still loomed large on the horizon with nothing around it to impede the view—before checking the direction they were going. Based on the sun and time of day, due north, more or less.

She had only been sledding once or twice before—most settlements in the Northern Water Tribe were coastal and depended on boats for transportation, with only the hunters going inland bothering with sleds—and she didn’t terribly like polar dogs (or any animals, really; she was still a city girl at heart), but she would have put up with a lot worse, to breathe the fresh air—so cold she could feel its sharpness in her lungs—and be surrounded by the vastness of the world. So for a little more than half an hour, life was quiet, and peaceful, and good.

Then the compound—for what else could a fortress carved out of ice and steel in the middle of the tundra be—came into view, and her wonderful little universe was shattered as Ming-Hua remembered she was going to be meeting Korra’s parents soon and had no idea what to say. _Sorry we tried to take your daughter from you (except I’m not). No, I can’t explain exactly why we did it, Zaheer already spilled too much of the congee on that one and there’s no way I’m letting anything else slip. I wasn’t planning on trying to grab her again, but life sometimes works out funny, heheh. Heh._

Fucking hell, she was so screwed.

-*O*-

Katara had abandoned her to ‘go start Korra on her morning warmup,’ so it was just her and Korra’s parents, with a few White Lotus sentries loitering right outside the room but not actually within hearing range unless someone yelled. Korra’s mother—Senna—pretended to be pleased to meet her; Tonraq didn’t bother with the farce and just glared at her from across the table.

At least the tea looked good, though both Senna and Tonraq startled when she picked it up, and Tonraq was immediately on his feet. “What are you trying to pull?” He sounded angry, but at least he wasn’t yelling (yet).

She glanced down at her cup of tea, then back at Tonraq. “Am I just supposed to stare at it?”

There was a moment of mutual incomprehension before Ming-Hua had a thought occur to her and pulled back her sleeves. The shock on both Senna and Tonraq’s faces was enough to confirm her suspicion: neither of them knew about her arms. Tonraq had been at the fight, but she had been wearing long sleeves then as well, and apparently no one had thought to tell him afterwards. Including Katara.

It took some work not to let her anger show on her face. ‘You may be surprised?’ What, was she supposed to be pulling to poor, pathetic cripple card for sympathy points? Was that what Katara had in mind all along? “Sorry,” she said, as dryly as possible, “But unless I am just supposed to be admiring the cup’s fine craftsmanship, this tea is going to involve me bending in some way or another.”

There was, for a moment, the flash of pity she expected (and hated), but-

“You’re a psychic bender,” Senna breathed, sounding impressed. Huh. She’d known Tonraq was a waterbender, but there was no way Senna would look that affected unless she had personal experience with bending as well.

Tonraq sat down heavily next to his wife, looking nearly as stunned. “Huh.”

By the spirits, Katara really hadn’t told them anything. “I thought that was how Katara sold you on me at all.”

Senna shook her head. “She just said something about you knowing a different waterbending style than her that Korra might find more exciting. Who taught you?”

“Nobody. Considering how dependent waterbending usually is on arm movements, none of the capital’s waterbending masters thought it worth checking whether the armless girl was a waterbender. I taught myself.” Crap, she _was_ playing the pathetic cripple card.

Fortunately, Tonraq didn’t seem to notice. “You’re Northern Water Tribe.”

“You sound surprised.”

Tonraq shrugged, and for the first time Ming-Hua got the impression that his default state wasn’t ‘hovering on the edge of violence.’ “I admit I am. Your name is Earth Kingdom, you didn’t use Northern Water Tribe style, and you don’t look full-blooded Water Tribe. I thought it likely you were from Republic City.”

Ming-Hua shrugged back. “My dad’s mom was Earth Kingdom. I took after her,” Except for the waterbending. And the arms. She had never met the woman, but she was fairly sure her father would have mentioned it if his mother hadn’t been born with any either, “So my father named me for her. He wasn’t much of a traditionalist.” Thank the spirits. Which reminded her. “He wouldn’t have been happy for how things turned out for you. He thought you were just what the Northern Water Tribe needed in a chieftain. Your father was always much too conservative for him, and he thought Unalaq was worse.”

Tonraq twitched, though he covered it up well. “… It’s always good to hear one wasn’t universally reviled. And you?”

Ming-Hua shrugged again and took a sip of her tea. “I’d been gone from the North Pole for years by then, but though I do think you fucked up, I never thought tradition was a good excuse for anything. And considering how talented he is at waterbending, you’d think Unalaq would be more open to change than he is.” Unalaq had always been weird that way; he’d wanted many things to be different, but only someone who didn’t know history (which admittedly had been her, once upon a time) would have thought him amenable to new ideas instead of just longing for a return to an ancient status quo.

Not that the status quo he’d been most attached to had necessarily been _bad_ ; it just wasn’t _new_ , and unfortunately came with a lot of other baggage that Unalaq had never been able to appropriately detach to her satisfaction.

Tonraq raised an eyebrow. “You speak as though you knew him.”

 _If by ‘knew him,’ you mean ‘nearly married the guy,’ I suppose you could say that,_ she thought cynically, but she didn’t really want to explain to Tonraq how close she’d come to becoming his sister-in-law. “In passing.”

Senna, who had spent the entire exchange looking faintly bemused, said with badly concealed impatience, “As glad as I am that Tonraq found someone to reminisce with about his homeland, I just want to know if Korra is safe with you and whether you plan on trying to take her away from us again.”

Oh thank the spirits, this was almost over. “Yes and no.” When that failed to yield any comprehension on either Senna or Tonraq’s faces, she clarified, “Yes, we never had any intention of hurting Korra, no, there is no plan to try and kidnap her. Again. I mean, considering how things turned out, that would be pretty-” _Stop. Stop talking while you’re ahead._ “… yeah,” she finished lamely.

Apparently she could have been worse, however, because after Tonraq and Senna glanced at each other, Tonraq sighed and they both pushed themselves to their feet, Senna gesturing for her to follow as they walked towards the door. “Katara and Korra will be training in the lower levels. We’ll show you the way.”

-*O*-

It was actually quite warm in the compound—underwater hot springs, probably—and she had a feeling she’d be getting in some exercise soon besides, so she took advantage of the hooks by the wall next to the training room’s door and hung up her coat before following Tonraq and Senna inside.

And straight into an epic bitchfest.

“I don’t _want_ to practice my waterbending!”

Her first impression of Avatar Korra pretty much boiled down to _Oh right, she’s five._

She was kind of a cute kid if you ignored the stomping and the screaming.

“Waterbending is _boring_!”

That was hard.

Katara was smiling as she always did, but it was starting to look a little strained around the edges, and she couldn’t quite disguise the relief in her eyes when Ming-Hua walked into the room.

“Korra,” Katara said firmly, and Korra seemed to have mostly wound down by that point, since she actually did shut up. At least until she saw her parents.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Ming-Hua mentally upgraded Avatar Korra from ‘kind of cute’ to ‘she’s going to be a terror when she grows up’ from the way her smile transformed her face when she caught sight of her parents. She had probably seen them already that day, but that didn’t stop her from immediately throwing herself into her father’s arms. “Did you come to see me train?”

Tonraq and Senna smiled down at their daughter, and the transformation to Tonraq’s face especially was even more startling. All three of them together looked like a tourism postcard for the South Pole. “Theoretically. Are we going to get to?”

That made Korra huff and cross her arms, glancing to the side in a pout, at which point she was immediately distracted from her sulk by Ming-Hua. Her eyes widened. “You don’t have any arms!”

Bless the candor of children. Little fuckers. “Nope,” Ming-Hua agreed blandly.

Korra seemed startled to have her statement confirmed, but she rallied quickly. “What happened to them?”

Senna looked like she was on the verge of reprimanding her daughter before Katara placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her head. The old woman wanted to see how this played out, huh?

Well, she’d never claimed to be good with kids. “They fell off.”

Korra clapped her hands over her mouth. “Arms can do that?!”

Well, maybe she was slightly above torturing small children. “Mine can. Unless I need them for something.” She bended herself some arms out of the nearby pool to demonstrate.

Korra’s mouth fell open. “You’re a waterbender!”

 _Thank you, Avatar Obvious_ , Ming-Hua thought cynically, then reminded herself that Korra was five. “Yeah. I’m here to help Katara with your training.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you think waterbending is too boring.”

That caused Korra to huff again. “Well, it _is_.”

Five. She was five. Ming-Hua had a feeling she’d have to remind herself of that a lot in the foreseeable future. “If you think that, you haven’t seen enough waterbending. It’s the best element by far.”

Great, it was back to stomping now. “No it’s _not_! It’s all… flowy and _peaceful_ and lame! I don’t wanna heal people, I wanna beat up the bad guys!” The way Korra sneered _peaceful_ abruptly made her like the kid about ten times more.

By the way Korra blinked at Ming-Hua’s smile, however, that maybe wasn’t getting across. “As I said: you haven’t seen enough waterbending.” She glanced at Katara. “You think any of those White Lotus goons would be willing to let me beat them up so I can show Korra how it’s done?”

“Likely so,” said Katara agreeably.

Unexpectedly, Tonraq stepped forward. “That will be unnecessary.” Ming-Hua wasn’t able to interpret the look he shot her as he continued, “I’ll spar with you.” His smirk was easier to read. “I doubt most of the White Lotus here would last long enough for it to be a decent exhibition match.”

Ming-Hua returned his smirk. It was probably a failing, but she always liked someone a little more once she found out they were capable of being little shits, especially when it involved them mocking the White Lotus. “Sounds good to me.”

-*O*-

At Ming-Hua’s request (she was so goddamned sick of rooms without windows), they moved it outside to the sparring ring she had seen when they first entered the compound. It was surrounded by snow and had a pavilion nearby from which Korra, Katara, and Senna could watch without getting in the way, which was as close to an ideal setup as they would get. It also meant that there were a lot more White Lotus overlooking the match, but Ming-Hua was growing unfortunately accustomed to that particular nuisance.

She had no doubt she would win; even if she hadn’t already been long convinced that—barring perhaps Katara—she was the most powerful waterbender alive, she had faced off with Tonraq briefly during the failed kidnapping and had gotten his measure. He was good—easily in the top quarter of waterbenders she’d met who held the title of master—but he wasn’t exceptional. She just had to remember that this was a spar—an exhibition match, which from what she had seen of them meant she should care more about showing off and less about beating Tonraq into the ground—and she wasn’t trying to kill the guy, and she’d be fine.

Tonraq was aggressive, for a waterbender; a flurry of ice bullets was spiraling towards her within a second of Katara saying the word ‘go.’ It just didn’t matter how aggressive he was, because he was still a waterbender, and she could block other waterbenders’ attacks without needing to do so much as blink; all of the bullets came to a halt only halfway across the ring. To Tonraq’s credit, he immediately realized he was in trouble and threw up an ice shield before she had even bothered to send the ice bullets back at him.

If it had been a real fight, it wouldn’t have made any difference; the disparity in their bending ability—in their connection to water—was too great. Even on the other side of the ring, she knew she would be able to wrest control of his ice shield from him, if she so chose. Or gather up all the water surrounding both of them, leaving him with nothing to bend. She’d need to bend herself some arms to be able to do so—her psychic bending had its limits—but she could do it.

But this was an exhibition match, not a real fight. And even out of the corner of her eye, Ming-Hua could see the excitement on Korra’s face. _The brat would learn nothing from me beating her father in two seconds_ , she told herself, except she knew exactly what a kid learned from watching a father she adored get crushed for no good reason; it just wasn’t anything worth knowing.

And besides… P’Li had always said she was good at showing off. It’d be a pity to let that go to waste.

-*O*-

By the time Katara called the match about three minutes later, the entire floor of the ring was coated in a sheet of black ice, a fine mist had dispersed over the entirety of the compound, all of the snow had melted within thirty yards of the ring, and the (wooden) climbing wall of the nearby obstacle course had been sheared cleanly in half. As far as the participants were concerned, Tonraq was no longer wearing his boots from being forced to abandon them after they were frozen to the floor, he was missing a lock of his hair, and he was still gasping from all the dodging Ming-Hua had forced him to do once he realized she was near-impossible to block; Ming-Hua, on the other hand, had relied entirely on her tentacle arms for her own manuevering once she decided to stop redirecting all of Tonraq’s attacks in favor of a more dynamic show of skill and was feeling quite chipper, even if her hair was somewhat in disarray.

Korra, for her part, had started screaming enthusiastically about ten seconds in and still hadn’t stopped. It was beginning to give Ming-Hua a headache. “That was so _cool_! When daddy,” here Korra did a credible impression of Tonraq bending an ice gauntlet, “and then you,” Korra mimed snapping something in half. “Show me how you did that!”

“Well,” said Ming-Hua dryly, “That’s why I’m here, supposedly.”

To the side of her, Tonraq bended his boots free and pulled them back on before walking over to his daughter and ruffling her hair. “I thought you didn’t like waterbending,” he teased.

Korra puffed up. “I didn’t know waterbending could do _that_!” She walked over to Ming-Hua and—somewhat to Ming-Hua’s surprise—grabbed her by the hem of her shirt and tried to tow her towards the nearest door that led to the training rooms. It didn’t work; Ming-Hua was fairly short, but Korra still only came up to a little past her waist. “Come _on_!”

Senna looked frozen in horror, barely managing to stammer out, “Korra, that’s so rude!”

Tonraq actually took a step forward and looked ready to separate them, but Ming-Hua waved him off and looked down at Korra. “Let go.” Korra seemed to sense she had gone too far and did as she was told, though her lower lip still jutted out stubbornly. “Brat, I understand your enthusiasm, but if you ever touch me without my permission again,” what the hell was an appropriate threat to use on a kid? Especially this one.

Wait. Duh. “I’ll… stop teaching you waterbending.”

Korra’s lower lip just jutted out more, though she sounded unsure as she said, “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me. You’ll be forced to practice your healing forever.”

Now Korra looked as horrified as her mother had a few seconds ago. “No!” Behind Korra, Katara looked like she didn’t know whether to be offended or laugh.

“Yes.”

Korra actually seemed like she was about to cry as she bawled, “But I’m the _Avatar_!”

Ming-Hua raised an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

That stopped Korra dead in her tracks. It was obvious no one had said that to her before. “It means… um…” Ming-Hua waited patiently, but Korra didn’t manage to finish her thought and just stood there, looking confused and upset. And five.

So Ming-Hua sighed. She _didn’t_ like kids. She didn’t. But it was still kind of like kicking a baby otter penguin. “Look, I’m not going to train you inside. Just go get my coat,” because now that she had stopped moving, it really was freezing even with the sun shining brightly overhead, “come back out here, and then I’ll let you show me what you can do.”

Seriously, a terror. Korra was already scampering back inside by the time Ming-Hua finished blinking away the blinding glow of her smile, which just left her with Katara, Senna, and Tonraq, the last of whom had walked up beside her, looking thoughtful but oddly content for a man who now desperately needed a new haircut. “Thank you.”

Ming-Hua stared at him. “… For what?”

There was more than a little humor in his eyes when he said, “For not utterly crushing me in front of my daughter, for one.” When Ming-Hua just continued to look at him, he laughed. “I may not be the waterbender you are, but I can still tell when someone is holding back.”

Ming-Hua shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious that he’d noticed. “… That would have missed the point of the match.”

“Maybe so,” said Tonraq amiably. His good mood then abruptly shifted, and darkness was back in his eyes as he said, quietly enough that Senna couldn’t hear (though Katara, by the solemnity of her expression, could), “I am willing to trust you with helping my daughter with her waterbending training. Betray this trust, and it won’t matter how good you are.”

She had a well-proven track record of destroying people who threatened her. She was actually quite proud of it. But... well, it wasn’t like he was wrong to be cautious. “Noted.”

Korra chose then to come skidding out the door, Ming-Hua’s borrowed coat bundled awkwardly in her arms. She held it out to Ming-Hua proudly as she ran up, slipping on the still-slick ring but ultimately successful in staying on her feet and totally oblivious to the tension between her father and Ming-Hua. “Here!”

Ming-Hua pulled it on. “Thanks. You up for showing me what you’ve been taught so far?”

Silently, Tonraq headed to the pavilion to sit by his wife as Korra nodded enthusiastically, not seeming to notice her father’s departure. “Yep!” She then grew unexpectedly shy. “Can I… ask something before we start?”

Well, that sounded ominous. “… Sure.”

“What’s your name?”

-*O*-

Korra had the basic form down, at least as far as Ming-Hua could tell; Southern Water Tribe style could not be entirely equated to her own bending, but at least it was fairly obvious that Katara knew what she was doing as a waterbending teacher (as if that wasn't already apparent from her track record). They didn’t get much further that day than running down Ming-Hua’s mental checklist of waterbending fundamentals (streaming water: yes; snow and ice to water and back again: yes; ice or water to mist or back again: no; basic water manipulation: yes, though not in any great volume; water whip: yes, though it was sloppy; not really any other waterbending combat moves yet) before the sun was setting and Katara was informing Korra that they had to leave for the day, at which point Korra burst into tears and started wailing for ‘Sifu Ming-Hua to stay a little longer, please please _please_!’ only barely remembering Ming-Hua’s warning in time to stop herself from latching on to Ming-Hua’s legs.

Ming-Hua startled and inwardly panicked; how the hell did one handle a crying kid? Katara, Tonraq, and Senna, however, just ignored it, and Katara patted Ming-Hua on the shoulder as they walked out the front gate to where the polar dog sleds were waiting. “Don’t worry; Korra has learned that she can manipulate many of the sentries if she cries enough. She’ll stop doing it once she learns it doesn’t work on you.”

“Manipulative little shit,” Ming-Hua said under her breath, at least half in wonder. She was sure she’d never pulled that kind of crap when she was that age—she’d been a proud kid—and now she was wondering if that had kind of been a waste of potential.

It wasn’t until half an hour later when the prison came into sight that she started freaking out.

It didn’t make a ton of sense; she’d grown up in a city and was used to enclosed spaces. She and her friends had once spent a couple of months voluntarily living in the caves near Omashu when Ghazan mentioned he’d always wanted to study the badgermoles’ earthbending like Toph had done. Except… even then, she hadn’t been prevented from seeing the sky, when she wanted to.

She wasn’t claustrophobic. Except that apparently she totally was.

When Katara got off her sled and started walking around the pillar back to the door, Ming-Hua seriously considered not following. But she still wasn’t sure she could take Katara, especially with at least two of the White Lotus backing her up. And she knew it was a real opportunity, to be able to train Korra. And…

She was making excuses. The truth was she would’ve made a break for it immediately if she thought she could get her friends out as well. But as it was, she would just be abandoning them to the White Lotus’ mercies. Their not-so-tender, recently pissed off mercies. She wouldn’t put it past them to punish Ghazan, Zaheer, and P’Li for her escape.

But still… the idea of going back inside her prison without even putting up a fight…

After unlocking the door, Katara noticed her lagging and turned around. Seeing the look on Ming-Hua’s face, Katara said in what she probably thought was a comforting voice, “We’ll be heading to the compound to train Korra again tomorrow.”

Ming-Hua didn’t move. “Is this how it’s going to be?”

Katara frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Are we only going to be let out when it suits you to use us?” Ming-Hua clarified. “You said we could go outside if we behaved, but that hasn’t happened yet and it’s been months. Is Ghazan going to have to wait four years to see the sky again? Is P’Li going to have to wait _eight_?”

Katara studied her for a moment, then said, “How is this: if you come back inside willingly with me now, and continue to do so every day after we finish Korra’s training, each of your friends, one at a time, will be escorted outside by a team of sentries for a few hours at least once a week, starting tomorrow.”

“Once a day,” Ming-Hua countered.

Katara just looked amused. “Once a week, but we’ll revisit the issue in six months.”

“Fine,” said Ming-Hua shortly, and walked past Katara through the door.

She was regretting her stride by the time they’d gotten to the top; she’d half-forgotten how many stairs there were. Dinner was already set up when they came through the door; at the sight of her, Ghazan started to rise to his feet, though Zaheer held him down with a grip on his sleeve and a warning glance she was too tired to bother interpreting. After she collapsed next to P’Li—who was frowning, but that could mean practically anything—and tried not to let herself face plant onto her plate, Zaheer asked in that way he did when he was trying too hard to sound casual, “So how was Avatar Korra today?”

“A total brat,” she replied, and didn’t bother to restrain her grin.

-*O*-

“Do I _have_ to practice waterbending tomorrow?” Korra asked, newly six but still not able to reach her toes when she was doing her warm down stretches.

“I could have sworn we moved past this,” Ming-Hua said.

Aujak—who for some reason thought that Korra’s sixth birthday was the perfect time for him to check up on her waterbending progress—also thought for some reason it was a good idea to say, “You will _never_ master waterbending if you continue to let yourself slack. What kind of Avatar will you be then?”

This caused Korra’s eyes to start to well up, and not in the way Ming-Hua had learned to spot as affected. For all that Korra was in truth a total brat (it was actually about half her charm, when it wasn’t annoying or occasionally worrisome), she really did seem to want to be ‘the best Avatar ever,’ and everyone knew it, including Aujak. Which was why he always took the Avatar angle whenever Korra did something he didn’t like. Because Aujak apparently _was_ the kind of asshole who kicked baby otter penguins.

“By the spirits,” Ming-Hua interjected when it looked like Aujak was going to _keep on going_ , “Shut _up_.”

This just led to Aujak glaring at her instead, but at least that was an improvement. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“And here I thought Ming-Hua was one of Korra’s waterbending masters,” Katara said mildly from her seat at the pavilion. This caused Aujak to transfer his glaring to _her_ , which had about as much effect as Ming-Hua expected (i.e. none).

“What do you want to do instead?” Ming-Hua asked Korra, now that Aujak was suitably distracted. When Korra just swallowed thickly and still looked like she was holding back tears, Ming-Hua couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “For the love of- Aujak is full of it. You haven’t been slacking, and it’s your birthday so I’m willing to humor you. What do you want to do instead of practicing waterbending?”

“Earthbending,” said Korra immediately, her tears forgotten. “Or firebending. Just something _different_.”

Ming-Hua stared at her for a moment, considering. Well, it was honestly amazing Korra’s attention span had held out as long as it did. Even more impressive—or maybe just sad—was the fact that Korra didn’t say something like ‘build a snowman’ or ‘go penguin sledding.’ Whatever else could be said about Avatar Korra, she truly did love bending. “… I’ll talk to Katara about it. We’re done for the day; go have dinner with your parents.” When Korra didn’t immediately move, Ming-Hua said, “If you let the arctic hen your mom roasted special for your birthday get cold, no one is going to be happy.”

That did it, and Korra ran off, her typical bounce returned to her step as if a sixty-year-old man hadn’t nearly made her cry just minutes before. This allowed Ming-Hua to walk over to Katara and Aujak, interrupting their barely audible bickering by saying to Katara, “You should bring Ghazan tomorrow instead of me.” When both of them stared at her uncomprehendingly, she clarified, “Korra wants to do some other kind of bending tomorrow. Ghazan will probably scare her less than P’Li.”

Aujak crossed his arms in what he’d probably deny was a huff. “Korra is nowhere _near_ ready to move on to her earthbending training.” His smirk made Ming-Hua want to punch him in the face. “Unless you’re trying to tell me that she has already mastered waterbending.”

She did not punch him in the face. She couldn’t tell if that felt like a victory or not. “Why does that matter?”

Aujak looked at her as if she was stupid. “She _can’t_ move on to earthbending until she has finished mastering waterbending.”

She let herself roll her eyes. Small concessions. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. I’m asking you why.”

His expression was much the same as Korra’s had been when Ming-Hua had asked her why Korra being the Avatar was relevant to Ming-Hua teaching her waterbending. It was much less cute on him. “Because… that’s how it’s _done_.”

“Historically,” Katara said agreeably, “Yes, it was.” But there was a speculative gleam in her eye as she continued, “But that was because the Avatar in the past went to each of his mentors in turn, and they were scattered across the globe. Learning one element at a time was the most efficient way to complete an Avatar’s training.

“But I can tell you Aang was not a waterbending master when we met Toph. And he was barely competent as an earthbender when Zuko joined us. Aang did master all the elements eventually, but he started his training in waterbending, earthbending, and firebending all in the same year.

“Korra has been doing well for her age, but she is only just six. I agree with Ming-Hua; we should encourage any desire of Korra’s to practice her bending, even if it isn’t in the traditional order.”

Aujak could not have looked more blank. “But… won’t that… we shouldn’t give into the whims of a six-year-old girl.” He seemed very sure on that point, for some reason.

Maybe she _should_ have punched him. “Why _not_? It’s her life. And I know Ghazan would be thrilled to get some earthbending in.” He might actually cry. She would have to make sure she got to be the one to tell him if (when) they wore Aujak down.

When that completely failed to persuade him, she tried a different tact. “Look at it this way: unlike Avatars in the past, without any training at all, she was capable of bending three of the four elements when she was just four years old. But that means she hasn’t been _trained_. If she’s determined to earthbend and firebend, she’ll do it whether or not she’s given a teacher. If she does that, there’s no way she won’t fall into some bad habits. If she’s instructed in at least the basics, that means whatever earthbending and firebending she does will at least be productive practice instead of working against her in the future.” When he still didn’t say anything, she might have snapped, a little bit. “You seem to think Aang was pretty great; do you want Korra turning out like _him_ , or a fuckup like Roku? I heard he was taught in the ‘traditional’ way, and looked how his story turned out.” _Thank you, Zaheer and your bizarre fetish for dead people._

“…Fine,” said Aujak. “Bring the lavabender tomorrow. But you shouldn’t get in the habit of just caving in whenever Korra whines long enough. She is just a child, and it is our duty to guide her.” By the look he shot Katara on the word ‘our,’ he was obviously not including Ming-Hua.

 _Korra’s judgment can’t be worse than yours_ , Ming-Hua thought, but decided not to share that and reminded quiet until Aujak had left. Only then did she turn to Katara. “You ever notice he only remembers that Korra’s the Avatar, repository of ancient wisdom and supposed bringer of balance to the world, when it’s convenient for him?”

“Yes,” said Katara bluntly. At Ming-Hua’s raised eyebrow, Katara chuckled, her good humor back on her face. “Why is it you think you’re here?”


End file.
